


On The Run

by QuietKait



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, Trigger Warning: Fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietKait/pseuds/QuietKait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a former officer of the Royal Navy turned adventurer, Dean is the pirate captain of 'The Hound's Revenge'. When they meet at sea and their lives intertwine, will their pasts finally catch up to them?</p>
<p>Not sure how long this will be yet, so strap in! I'll update tags and characters as the story progresses. Regular (hopefully weekly) updates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is mostly flashback; if you have any form of PTSD pertaining to a house fire or similar event, I advise against reading this.

Cas had been tracking the ship for months, the elusive Hound’s Revenge. The pirates aboard the ship had been endlessly terrorizing the wealthier cities along the Caribbean coast; stealing, rioting, taking boys for their crew, it needed to end. Castiel and the rest of his crew planned to be the ones to end it. After many sleepless nights stopping in too many towns to count and questioning too many locals to name, Cas finally had something to go on; his men had finally gotten a lead on The Hound’s course. They intended to intercept the vessel upon its docking at King’s Wharf port in Bermuda. Why the pirates had decided to sail north away from the sure wealth of the Caribbean, Cas did not know. All he knew was that the task of protecting the innocent from the savage had fallen to him.

Cas and his crew were at the approximate halfway point between the rural port they’d set off from and their destination at King’s Wharf. He was grateful for the speed of his ship; The Gilded Eagle, it was called. Cas wasn’t the one to name it, but he found the moniker suiting; it was a beautiful ship. A former Navy ship made from a pale white oak, the railings and portholes were ornately carved and painted in gold. Great white sails loomed overhead, billowing in the breeze, the largest of which depicted a set of golden wings stretched across its surface. A moderately sized fourth rate, The Eagle carried 52 cannons and was meant for 160 men. Cas did not have 160 men; He only had 94. He started out with more, young men wanting to join in on his near famous adventures, but they had left. They abandoned his cause, saying he was “too righteous” wanting to save anyone of misfortune he came across. They claimed he was mad for thinking that he alone could be a harbinger of good, with only one ship and 10 dozen men. In reality Cas knew that his efforts were unlikely to leave a lasting impact on the high seas, especially with the corruption soiling the Royal Navy, the very force that was sworn to protect. It was disgusting. But he figured if he could save even a handful of people from pirates, tyranny, disaster or what-have-you, if he could make some small difference, it was all worth the trouble. Cas always coveted the role of guardian. The self-governing adventurer lifestyle that he now lived was not always his path, but he knew that he was meant to protect, one way or another. That was something his father had taught him.

Once, so long ago now that it felt like forever, Cas had a family just like anyone else. It was he, his mother and his father in a small house in the British West Indies. It was a costal town near Angel’s Gate, a popular shipping port. Every so often sailors could be found at the inn, having a drink and a rest before once again setting sail. Young Cas loved to go there after school and hear the stories of their adventures. He’d sit in a corner and listen in awe as they talked of pirates, saving damsels in distress and finding lost treasures. Their swashbuckling tales reminded him of the stories his father used to tell him when he was little. 

His father, the town carpenter, was always a strong believer in doing what was right. He always taught Cas never to pass up the chance to give help to someone who needed it. He would sit down in his favorite chair (his favorite because Cas had “helped” make it. It wasn’t the sturdiest, but he loved the way his son’s eyes lit up when he used it) and little Cas would seat himself on the floor in front of him. While they waited for Cas’ mother to finish dinner, he would tell Cas stories about heroes and their courageous deeds. They were grand tales about brave men who had fought dragons and slain werewolves, men who risked their lives to protect the innocent and those they loved. The heroes didn’t care how dangerous or menacing a task was; as long as there were people to save and wrongs to right, they would fight. 

“But Papa,” Cas wondered, “I’ve never seen a werewolf, all the dragons and monsters are gone…” How could he grow up to be a hero like the ones in the stories if people didn’t need saving?

“Ah, but Son,” His father would reply, pulling little Cas up onto his lap, “There are plenty of ways to help. You see, sometimes, monsters disguise themselves as people. They could look just like you or me, preying on the innocent and those who cannot protect themselves. It’s a Hero’s duty to defeat them and keep people safe.”

Cas’ father would also tell stories about the Royal Navy; how he had always hoped to join but, due to an accident on the job, was blind in one eye and thus could not shoot or sword fight. He called them modern heroes; told of how they sailed the seas in search of bad men, how they protected, how they were good. What he neglected to tell little Cas is that sometimes, a man is just a man, serving his own selfish needs. It took Cas a long time to realize that. 

When Cas was 15 a fire broke out in his town, nobody really knew how it got so out of hand; you’d think a place surrounded by so much water would never burn, that it’d be easily put out. Despite that, it spread fast. The buildings were too close together and everything just went up in flames. When it happened, Cas was off getting kindling for the stove (the irony just kills him) to help his mother with dinner. When he saw the black smoke billowing towards the sky he dropped the sticks and bolted back towards the town. When he got there, flame had already started eating everything. Cas had never seen anything like it. Frightened mothers were trying to drag their crying children to safety, half burnt men were laying in the road choking out quiet screams, scared and confused horses were running through the town like crazed demons, breaking the bones of the fallen in their stampede; it was horrible. 

Cas began pushing his way through the panic to his house, but heard a boy cry out, screaming for help. His eyes followed the sound and he saw a classmate of his, a burning beam had fallen over his legs. Cas recognized his face as someone he went to school. He knew this boy, his family, he couldn't just let him burn. He pushed the beam off as best he could; thankfully it wasn’t that big, the boy was just small. He freed his classmate, helped him up and went on through the crowd. He needed to see if his parents were okay. But along the way people kept calling out for help and Cas kept stopping. A man grabbed his leg, his face so badly burnt the skin was bubbling. The man desperately needed help. Cas tore off part of his sleeve and told the man to hold it over the wound; it was all he could do. Then he heard the innkeeper’s daughter screaming as he ran past the inn. Cas found her shaking next to the flaming bar, a bottle of rum had exploded and sent shards of green glass flying into her neck and shoulder. He carefully pulled out the glass and dragged her away from the rest of the flammable alcohol. Everywhere he turned there was another disaster, another scream. He was running out of time, but he couldn’t just leave people to die.

Once he finally reached home, covered in sweat, dirt, and other people’s blood, he yelled out for his mother. Cas heard nothing. He cried out to his father, voice cracking under his growing terror. Nothing. A heavy knot was forming in his stomach as he navigated the burning house, frantically avoiding the flames threatening to singe his skin. The home he had been in just an hour earlier now looked like a scene from hell. Fire climbed the walls and was licking the rafters, casting everything in a bright orange light as embers fell around him like sadistic snow. The ceiling creaked and he ducked out of the way to dodge a fiery bit that had fallen away from the roof. It was hard to see, the blinding light of the fire mixing with the thick black smoke, and Cas didn’t know which was more suffocating, the smoke or the intense dry heat invading his lungs. He came to what was once the kitchen and, though it was hard to make out at first, saw his father, holding Cas’ mother in his arms. There was a deep wound on her head and she wasn’t moving. Cas wanted to cry out to her, but his voice made no sound. Despite the flames writhing around him, he was frozen.

“Get out of here, boy!” His father commanded, “The whole place is coming down!” 

Cas didn’t move.

His father’s expression softened, “She’s fine, son. Just a bump on the head, she’ll be fine.” 

His father’s small shaky smile was meant to reassure Cas, but Cas knew things weren’t okay. His eyes were fixed on his mother’s unmoving form. 

Finally his father just screamed, “Go!” 

Cas pulled it together long enough to regain control of his feet, spinning round and running through the flaming house towards the door. His father was strong and right behind him, he knew he’d be fine. Cas was almost out when he heard a loud crash. He stopped dead in his tracks, knowing that sound meant awful things. He turned around, and saw his father under a pile of wood; the ceiling had collapsed on top of him, only his head, chest and arm were exposed and his eyes were closed. Cas could not see his mother at all.

“Papa!” Cas screamed, running towards him. His father didn’t answer.

He held tight to his father’s heavy arm and tried to pull him out from under the pile. He was too stuck, Cas wasn’t strong enough. Part of him knew that his mother was already gone, that Cas was too late, but he couldn’t lose his father too. Cas yanked and pulled, his feet slipped out from under him and he fell twice, but he wasn’t making any progress. His desperate screams for help did nothing, lost in the roar of the blaze around him. Cas then changed tactics and tried in vain to push the rafters off of his father’s body, but they were too heavy. He pushed at them with his back, his feet; he tried until smoke filled his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, his hoarse screams choking off into coughs. He tried until fire started to spread around his hands and the hot air made his eyes burn. But the house was collapsing, his mother was already gone and his father was still, Cas was struggling to breathe and he couldn’t see. He couldn’t help them, he just wasn’t strong enough. He was exhausted.

Cas staggered out of the burning frame of his home. Delirious and dizzy from the physical exertion and lack of oxygen, he somehow managed to make it a safe distance from the burning town. He collapsed in a heap off the side of road, watching the only home he’d ever known burn to the ground. He touched the wetness on his cheeks and realized he had been crying. Involuntary sobs continued to rip through his dry throat as his tears left clean streaks down his dirtied face, falling on hands and cooling the burns.

“It’s okay Papa, I’ll be a good man.” He whispered to himself, “I’ll be a hero. I’ll make you proud.”

It was a promise.


	2. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound has spotted Cas and his crew at sea. Cas was not prepared for this; Could The Eagle take on a ship this big?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in the "present" (which is technically the 1700s in this story), less flashback.

“Captain!” his first mate yelled from across the deck, jogging over to the Captain’s station.

“Yes, Balthazar?” Cas replied, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at his friend.

“I regret to inform you that we uh, we’ve spotted The Hound approaching.” Balthazar informed, with hesitation.

“What? How close?” Cas turned to face him now, anxiety creeping under his skin; though he hid it well.

“It’s coming up fast, we have approximately a half hour to prepare for possible combat.”

“Shit. They must have spotted us at the Port of Nassau while we stopped. I thought we were being careful…” Cas trailed off. “Prepare to load the cannons and make sure the men are all armed.”

“Aye, Captain!” Balthazar agreed, and with a wink he was off. Nobody else could get away with that kind of casual affection, but Balthazar was different; he was special.

He was worried; Cas wasn’t sure that they could take on the pirate vessel at sea. The ship was bigger and they more crew, Cas had planned to confront them on land, after the ship had docked. The pirates would be without their ship’s guns, leaving them at a disadvantage. With The Eagle’s crew’s superior weapons and combat training, Cas would have the upper hand. But that course of action had been extinguished. He needed to prepare his crew for a naval battle; it’s not as if they were inexperienced in fighting at sea, but they just didn’t have the numbers or artillery to give Cas much confidence that they could win this. But damn would he try.

The ship was in ordered chaos; the men were running about positioning the cannons above and below deck, making sure their swords and guns were battle-ready. Cas grabbed his hanger sword and pistol and nestled them into his belt where they could be easily reached. He ran up and down the top deck, yelling instructions, then stopped to doll out some motivation. God he hated speeches, and they were admittedly no his strong suit: 

“They will outnumber us. They will have more guns. Their ship is bigger and so are their cannons. But you are honorable, brave men! You are trained where they are not and you have integrity, the spark that they lack. If you hold your fire until you have a sure shot, then give it your all, we will come out of this on top!” Cas tried his best to sound reassuring and not let on that this was a bad situation. His crew cheered though, so he must have done alright.

The Hound’s Revenge was fast approaching; Cas could see it very clearly now.

“Load the Cannons!” Cas commanded, the pirate vessel was nearly at their ship’s starboard side now, “Hold!”

The Hound was a huge Man of War ship (the shape alone had Cas suspecting that it had probably belonged to the Navy once upon a time), notably larger than Cas’ 52 gunner. Giant black sails loomed over the ebony wood of the ship, slightly tattered and frayed. Above them flew a dark grey flag sporting the image of a vicious dog’s snarling face. The bow of the ship was ornately decorated in nightmares; skulls, serpents and flames frozen into the dark wood. The carvings swirled to the sides of the boat, leading from the figurehead; a giant black dog, same as the one depicted on the flag. It looked as if it came from the frozen depths of Hell itself. 

Cas could see what he assumed was the ship’s captain, due to how and where he was standing, amid the waiting crew. From what he could make out he wasn’t as old as Cas had expected him to be; well past adolescence, but youthful enough that someone’s grandfather would call him “young man”. Though the odd thing was not his age (or lack of), but that he noticed Cas too. Their ships were very close now, neither making a move. Waiting. Cas walked to the edge of his own to get a closer look. He could’ve sworn that The Hound’s captain was looking at him as a regrettable enemy, his expression a bit… sad? But why would he…

Cas didn’t have time to read into it as loud bang snapped him out of his daze.

“No!” Cas yelled, spinning around as he registered that someone had fired a cannon without his command. “I said hold!”

It was too late, the shot had already been fired. The projectile punched through the air and took out a chunk of the enemy ship’s railing, causing its crew to throw their hands up to defend themselves from the splinters flying around them. One or two were injured, but that hardly made a dent in their numbers. 

“Shit.” Cas said to himself, then gave the order, “Prepare to fire!”

The Hound’s crew yelled in a roar of enthusiasm, their own captain giving the order to engage. The pirates lit their cannons and fired on The Eagle.

“Hit the deck!” Balthazar yelled, tackling Cas to the ground as an iron sphere sailed past his head, breaking one of the powder barrels behind him into flying pieces.

“Get off!” Cas grunted, though not ungrateful for the saving of his hide. He pushed his first mate off of him and sat up. 

He felt a sharp pain in his leg and looked down to see a large dark splinter of wood, about twice the size of the barrel of his pistol, sticking through the flesh of the side of his knee. It must have been a piece of the powder keg. 

“Cas, are you alright?” Balthazar asked, ducking to avoid more flying splinters as cannon balls crashed into the ship. 

“Yes, I’m fine!” He gritted out and stood. But when he took a step, shifting his weight to the injured leg he fell back to the ground. “Give the order to fire,” Cas said, looking up at his brother in arms. “I need to- Oh no. What are they…”

Cas felt a familiar panic begin to well up in his stomach. From his compulsory position on the ground, through the iron raining down on them, Cas spotted the crew of The Hound pouring gunpowder into bottles. When he saw them wrap shot in cloth then stuff the cloth into the bottles, soaking them in rum, he recognized what this was. He had heard about Blackbeard using these a few years ago; tiny bottled explosions. This was not good at all.

“Get down!” He yelled, more frantic than intended. Only a handful of men had heard him. 

“Everybody down!” He yelled again, louder this time. You,” He pointed to a group of men, “ready the boats on the port side! Be careful!”

Cas knew that his eyes were wide and there was panic in his voice, but that didn’t matter. He needed a way to get his crew off the ship. It was clear that there was no way for them to take down The Hound at sea like this; it was too heavily armed and too big for their cannons to significantly damage. They might have had a chance if the pirates had decided on man-to-man combat, but Cas couldn’t risk sending some of the few men he had over, and the crew of The Hound was staying fast to their own ship.

Balthazar ran to the other side of the boat to help the other men untie the boats, and the rest of the crew hit the deck. Cas remembered the powder barrels and his stomach dropped, but there wasn’t time now to move them. 

“Everybody to the port side! Take cover!” He screamed as the pirates began lighting the cloth of their makeshift grenades.

Cas wrapped his fingers around the wooden splinter spearing his leg and twisted it out, biting back a yell and leaving a ragged bloody wound behind. He threw the shard aside and, with great difficulty, pulled himself to his feet and began to limp away from the edge of the ship. 

When he turned his head back he saw a flaming grenade soar through the space between the two ships, shattering at the base of the mast in front of him. Cas stopped hobbling and stared in horror as flames started to climb the wooden mast, beginning to lick the sails. Another firebomb smashed on the steps leading to the upper deck on his right. They caught fire much more quickly than Cas thought possible, and rapidly spread to meet the flames of the mast. There was now a growing wall of flame in front of him and precarious powder barrels sitting to his left, just waiting to ignite.

He turned to Balthazar, “Get them out of here!” he yelled across the deck, making a waving motion with his hand.

He saw his friend’s look of concern, “I’ll be fine!” He reassured as best he could, “I’ll make it, just go!” Balthazar seemed to buy it and began helping to lower a few filled boats.

Cas moved farther right, away from the barrels of gunpowder, just in time for one of them to be met with a grenade and explode. They were small, but the other three quickly followed suit and Cas was knocked off his feet by the resounding force of the combined explosion. Luckily, he was still conscious and turned himself around to see his crew escaping the blaze, Balthazar jumping into the final boat as it lowered. He was thankful they all got out into the boats in time, but his anxiety did not leave him. 

The fire was quickly escalating and Cas was thrown into a complete panic. He was gasping for breath and frantically looking around at the flames drawing closer. There was still a pretty wide space around him that the fire hadn’t yet reached, but the heat was unbearable. He saw flashes of the burning bodies littering the road near Angel’s Gate, heard their screams, saw the flesh sizzle off their bones. He saw the limp, unmoving form of his mother lit in the burning orange glow of his home. He saw the rubble crushing his father and felt his hands burning. The worst was the smell, smelling the burning flesh of the mother and father he couldn’t save. He pulled his knees to his chest and began to scream.

Cas was hysteric. He desperately covered his ears and was screaming things like “No!” and “I’m sorry!” He couldn’t breathe, even though the smoke had yet to consume his lungs. He felt dizzy and guilty and sick. He saw his mother, pleading with him, asking him why he couldn’t protect her. And his father, telling him what a disappointment he was for failing to pull him out of their burning house. Cas went pale. He felt like vomiting. 

He brought his hands to his face, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the images that were plaguing him. Why wasn’t he stronger? Why didn’t he get there sooner? His guilt mixed with the panic and terror weighing down on him. The fire of his ship was growing. One of the small auxiliary masts had crashed down across the deck, a column of flames as it fell. Cas was trapped.


	3. Salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Captain of The Hound's Revenge, spots a man on the burning deck of The Eagle. He can't just leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally meet. Not a particularly sexy chapter but hey, build up. hold your horses. Feedback is always 570% welcome :)

Aboard his ship, The Hound’s Revenge, Dean shook his head as he looked at the damage they’d done to the smaller vessel. They were defending themselves, of course, though maybe the fire thing was a little extreme. 

His first mate looked over from across the deck and saw Dean’s furrowed expression; “It was the fastest way to get them off the ship, brother.” He walked over and patted Dean on the shoulder, a comforting gesture of solidarity.

The two of them weren’t really blood, Dean’s only blood had been gone for years now, but they were so close that anyone would just assume they were related. He had helped Dean gain his position as captain of The Hound, and he owed him a lot. Of course, his friend insisted that he didn’t, that they were even in their debts and Dean didn’t owe him anything, but Dean knew that without his now-first-mate, he would most likely have been dead years ago.

As they looked out at the burning ship (shame really, it was definitely beautiful) Dean saw what looked like someone stranded on the main deck, flames forming a large circle around him. Dean moved closer to the rail of the ship.

“Benny…” He nudged his first mate’s shoulder to get his attention, “Look, on the deck…”

“I don’t-“ Benny said quietly, looking the ship over, “oh no.” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Think they left someone behind? I thought they all got out…” Dean shielded his eyes against the bright flame with his hand and stepped closer to get a better look. “Is that? Shit. Benny, I think that’s the captain. I saw him earlier.”

“Is this that whole ‘goin’ down with the ship’ thing? Because I for one- Dean!” Benny looked over to see his captain taking off his grey coat and slinging a rope over the sail rigging. 

“What are you doing?” Benny put a hand on Dean’s chest to stop him, “You can’t go over there! For God’s sake brother, the ship is on fire!”

“Yeah, well I can’t just leave him.” Dean stepped back enough to gain a running start, “And if we use the plank to bridge the ships the fire could spread to The Hound. Just let me go, man, I’ll be fine. Won’t take long.”

With a wink and more protests from his first mate, Dean tested his weight on the rope and began running to the ship’s edge. With a jump and a tight grip on the line, he swung over the short gap between the two ships. He narrowly avoided the flames licking the main mast of the burning ship, to his great relief. 

“Hold this for me!” He yelled back to Benny with a cheeky grin, contrasting his first mate’s disapproving frown, and let the rope swing back over.

Dean turned back to look for the man on deck (he’d overshot his distance a bit and went farther than intended). He saw the dark haired man, thankfully not on fire yet, sat by the stairs to the upper deck. As dean made his way closer, stepping around smaller fires and over wooden splinters strewn about from their cannon fire, he could hear the man muttering to himself. He heard things that sounded like ‘it’s all my fault’ and ‘I’m sorry papa’. From what he could tell, the captain’s voice was hoarse and raw, like he’d been screaming. But Dean had no idea what the hell he was talking about; maybe the heat was getting to him or something.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, “We’ve gotta get out of here!” 

The man didn’t hear him so Dean bent down to look at him, the same young face he’d seen earlier now painted in a panicked chaos that Dean hadn’t expected. The guy was completely freaking the hell out. He’d looked so collected earlier when Dean saw him on the deck. Now he wasn’t even sure he’d heard him, but the flames around them were drawing closer and they were running out of time. 

“Hey! Man!” Dean waved his hands in front of the man’s face, nothing. “HEY!” Dean punctuated his yell with a slap to the captain’s face “Come on!”

The man quickly responded to that, head snapping to Dean with a look of clouded confusion. He looked around, as if just noticing that he was on a ship (what was with this guy?). Dean stood up and extended a hand; the man took it and began to pull himself up, but it was hard for him to stand. He stood in front of Dean, clearly keeping his weight off his right leg. Dean looked down to check him out and noticed the bloody hole in the side of his knee, red staining down the light tan of his pant leg. 

“Damnit” Dean muttered under his breath. “Alright, here we go.” He threw the injured man’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around his waist. 

The guy was only slightly lighter than Dean, but Dean was strong and had no problems half dragging him to the edge of the blazing ship while he attempted to limp along. 

“Benny!” Dean yelled over the roar of the fire, putting his free hand to his mouth to amplify the sound, “Toss us the line!”

From The Hound, Benny swung the rope over. Dean caught it with his free hand and turned to the man he was holding up. 

“Okay, man.”

“Castiel.” The man rasped out.

“What?”

“That’s my name.” he cleared his throat, “Castiel.” He said hoarsely, sounding a bit irritated that he had to repeat himself.

“Right. Okay, Cas. Now I know you’re leg’s busted, but your arms seem to work fine so hold on tight.” 

Both the men grabbed onto the rope and held tight as their combined weight let them swing easily back to Dean’s ship. Once they landed Dean let go of the Cas, whom he still had an arm around, and walked over to where Benny was standing.

“Gutsy move, Captain” Benny shook Dean’s hand and pulled him in for a quick pat on the back. “Nice job”

Dean smiled “Yeah, for a second I thought-“

He heard a loud crash and they both turned to look back at the burning ship; the remaining mast had fallen over the deck, the spot where they had been was now covered in flames. The ship was falling apart. Cas was still standing at the edge of Dean’s ship, balancing his weight off his injury, watching his ship burn. He stared on with the most dejected expression. He put his head down, hand on his forehead and his shoulders slumped, looking quite forlorn, Dean noticed.

“Well, Cas,” Dean started quietly, hesitantly approaching the soon to be shipless captain, “Welcome aboard The Hound’s Revenge. I’m the Captain here, Dean, and that back there is Benny. He’s… Castiel?” 

Dean reached out to put a hand on Cas’ still back, but as soon as he made contact Cas spun around, drawing his sword from his belt. He stumbled slightly in his stance, but seemed to ignore it. Dean heard Benny draw his sword as well, but he threw back a hand, telling Benny to stand down. This was something Dean could deal with, but Cas looked angry. Very angry.

“Why? Why did you save me?” Cas commanded, Dean would even go so far as to say furiously, at this point. “So you could just gut me yourselves?” 

Dean tried to explain the situation, “Look, Cas. Put the weapon down. My men and I, we never wanted to… We’re not-“

“You’re the ones who did that!” Cas gestured behind him with his free hand, sword still trained on Dean. “My ship is burning to ash! My crew is gone! Now…” Cas’ sore voice grew quieter, “What do I have left? Why didn’t you just leave me?” 

Cas kept his weapon drawn, but his shoulders sagged a bit and he wore an expression bordering on hopeless, big blue eyes nearly pleading for an answer as he looked at Dean. But this was fleeting. When Dean stepped forward, Cas straightened, ready for a fight again.

Dean continued forward, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Let me explain. We knew you were tailing us, didn’t know what you wanted. When you fired we took you for hostile.”

Cas looked at Dean with equal parts confusion and fury, but lowered his weapon, “So you decided to set us on fire?” It was an unorthodox practice, even for pirates.

Dean clarified, still moving closer, “We hoped using the firebombs would get you to order your men to abandon ship. That’s how it usually works. Quick and dirty, typically less casualties. We lose the ship, sure, but that’s the price of mercy.”

Cas chuckled bitterly, “since when do pirates have time for mercy?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, man!” Dean threw up his hands, “We’re not pirates!”

Cas furrowed his brow and looked at Dean with fuming suspicion, “What are you talking about? This is a pirate ship! The Hound’s Revenge is infamous far beyond the Caribbean. There are stories of you murdering whole villages in their sleep and kidnapping boys in the night. You’ve burned prisoners alive and killed men in front of their children! You get off on murder and mayhem and chaos, but you mean to stand there and tell me you’re not a pirate!” Cas’ hand was on his sword, ready to draw again, though he kept it tucked away in his belt.

Dean stopped and put his hands up, trying to assure Cas that he meant no harm to him. He started moving slowly toward Cas again, like approaching a cornered animal. Dean kept his eyes on Cas’ face; Cas looked disgusted with him. When Dean finally stopped in front of him, Cas made a move to step back, having forgotten about his wounded leg. When his weight shifted onto it he winced and lost his footing. Dean reached out and swiftly caught him around the waist, pulling him close and steadying him before he could fall. 

Cas glared up at Dean, though not as harshly as he had been. This close, Dean could tell that Cas smelled vaguely like cinnamon, and that his eyes were the same color as the mid-morning sky over a calm sea. What odd things to notice at a time like this.

Dean broke eye contact first. “Benny! Go get some medical supplies and meet me in my cabin, let’s see if you can’t patch this leg up.” Dean turned back to Cas and smiled.

“Come on, let’s get this mess fixed first.” Dean nodded at the ragged bleeding wound on Cas’ leg, “Then, I’ll tell you the truth.”

Dean put an arm around Cas’ waist and Cas begrudgingly threw his own arm over Dean’s shoulder. Feeling only a bit more at ease, Cas limped along with Dean as he brought him to the Captain’s Quarters. It was time to set things straight.


	4. Stitched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gives Dean the benefit of the doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patching that leg up, some Benny convo, I needed a transition into the next chapter (Dean's backstory). I'm sorry if this seems like filler, I know it's short but it seemed like the appropriate place to stop >.>

The captain’s quarters aboard The Hound’s Revenge were much better kept than Cas would have expected. He expected at least a bit of grime from a ship with such a reputation, but that was not what this was. Heavy green curtains draped over the portholes, a large four-post bed with luxurious black linens, and a very nice oak desk in the middle of the room; definitely less “pirate” than he thought it would be, but something about it felt off. It was as if there were something dark hanging in the air that Cas couldn't quite put his finger on. He decided not to think about it too much.

When Dean helped Cas stagger through the low doorway into the cabin, he noticed him looking around the heavily decorated space. 

“Yeah,” He said as he let go of Cas and went pull his desk chair around from behind the desk, “The previous captain was a fan of the extravagant. I never got around to getting rid of all this crap and it just kinda grew on me.” Dean explained, rubbing the back of his neck.

He gave a sheepish smile, but Cas remained silent. Dean rolled his eyes and gestured for him to sit. “I told you, man. We’re not pirates. Well, not really.” Cas watched the captain- Dean as he talked and decided that he was more handsome than a pirate had the right to be- defined jaw and golden green eyes, full lips that were pleasant to watch as they formed words; what odd things to notice. “Not like you think, anyway” Dean continued, and Cas realized that he hadn’t really been paying much attention to what he was saying.

Cas looked at him from the chair with his brow furrowed. He got the sense that the captain was being very vague, and that made Cas uneasy. The main thing he wanted cleared up at the moment was whether or not they would kill him, because Cas wasn’t yet completely sure and was still on edge. He didn’t trust this handsome stranger; he was hiding something. But then again, weren’t most people?

“Okay, yes. The Hound has a reputation as a pirate ship, and that’s because it was.” Dean began to explain, “But that was under a different captain, different crew. Not me and my men.” Dean moved to sit down at the edge of the bed, facing Cas, “Our captain, he was a cruel, vindictive man.” Dean had a look of disgust on his face, “Sick and twisted, never spared a soul.” Dean looked down, eyes fixed to the floor as if remembering a nightmare, and shook his head, “Not one.”

“But you were with him?” Cas more accused than asked, “One of his crew?”

Dean let out a bitter laugh and shook his head, “Hardly. It’s not that simple.” Dean looked up at Cas, “Look, the point is the men onboard now, they’re not bad men. I… acquired this ship, along with its reputation, but that doesn’t mean I’m carrying on its traditions.” Dean leaned forward, closer to Cas, “Tell me, have you heard of us doing anything serious in the past fifteen years?” Dean raised his eyebrows, turning his head expectantly.

Cas shot him a distrustful glare, “what about the rioting, and the robberies? The kidnapping?” he rattled off, just from the top of his head.

Dean put his hands up in mock defense. “Okay, one- Those riots were just my men blowing off some steam after a few drinks, we didn’t know the people in those towns would go all mob-mentality and start wrecking shit.” Dean chuckled to himself, ‘people are crazy’. “Two, we only stole from people who could afford it. Probably. Not that bad, come on. And those boys?” He pointed at Cas, face turning more serious, “We did not kidnap them, they signed up. Willingly.”

Cas was silent, but he was starting to feel more sure that his life was no longer in much danger. He also had the strong urge to give Dean the benefit of the doubt, and believed his claims, for whatever reason.

Dean tore his gaze from Cas’ morning-sky eyes and looked back at the ground, clasping his hands, “I needed more crewmen. It’s a big ship, you know, and I- we lost a lot getting it.”

Dean was silent, clearly not intending to say more.

“How did you become captain?” Cas asked quietly, looking at Dean. “If you weren’t really part of the crew, how did you-“

“Benny!” Dean hopped off the bed, and Cas looked over to see the ship’s first mate standing in the doorway with an armful of supplies, “Took you long enough.”

Nobody else could just walk in like that unannounced. Dean didn’t mind as much with Benny though. He was different, more of a confidant than anything.

“Sorry brother, the crew had some questions about our salvaged guest.” Benny walked in, looking down at Cas, “Told them that they best mind their own business or take it up with the captain later.” He winked then turned back to Dean “Expect some inquiries.”

Dean sighed, “I’ll just take care of that now, before we set off again.” Dean patted Cas on the shoulder and started walking out of the cabin, “Patch him up good, alright?” Benny nodded and Dean closed the door behind him.

Benny pulled a small stool over next to Cas to use as a table. Cas winced a bit when Benny pulled his leg up and set his foot on one half of the stool. He started laying his supplies out across the other half; a needle and thread, bandages, rags, a knife, and some liquid in a dirty bottle that Cas assumed was some kind of rum. 

“Alright, sailor,” Benny said as he cut up Cas’ pant leg to get to his wound, tearing the fabric away, “Now I’m not what you’d call a ‘licensed physician’, but I do know a thing or two about patching up a wound.” He patted Cas’ (uninjured) knee, “It’s easier if you relax.”

Cas didn’t realize that he was tense until Benny mentioned it, and made a conscious effort to relax. Once he was successful, Benny reached for the brown bottle beside him and unscrewed the cap. Cas could smell the alcohol from where he was sitting.

“Got this at Port Royal way back when” Benny said, raising an eyebrow and taking a swig, “Good times.” He smiled to himself and reached for a rag. He held the rag to the mouth of the bottle and tipped it upside down, soaking the cloth in the caramel colored liquid. 

“No doubt this’ll sting,” Benny warned, “but I’m sure you already knew that.”

When the soaked rag hit Cas’ open wound it was fine at first, but then the intense burn set in. Cas just grit his teeth and took it because really, this wasn’t anything compared to other injuries. When Benny started scrubbing the bloody hole though, Cas drew in a sharp breath and his posture went rigid. It fucking hurt, but Cas had definitely had worse. This was nothing to really complain about. 

Once the ragged hole was clear of debris, Benny threaded the needle with the thick thread he’d brought and began stitching Cas up. It wasn’t as bad as Cas had anticipated, the alcohol probably numbed the flesh a bit anyway. Benny whistled something vaguely familiar to Cas as he worked on his leg.

Cas looked down at the man fixing his injury. He looked older than Dean and had a kind face, though sadness and wear sat between the lines etched around his pale blue eyes. Cas noticed how familiar the two of them were, they clearly meant a lot to each other, maybe he would tell Cas what Dean wouldn’t.

Cas cleared his throat, “Benny?”

“Yeah,” he replied sarcastically, with a worn smile, “that’s me.”

Cas continued, “What happened?” he winced a little when the needle pierced a particularly sensitive patch of skin, “To Dean, I mean. He’s not telling me everything, is he?”

Benny kept stitching, “Well that depends, what did he tell you?”

“Well he told me that The Hound wasn’t always his ship,” Cas began, “that the former captain was horrible, and that you’re not actually vicious blood-thirsty pirates, it’s just your reputation.” his voice got quieter as he trailed off, hoping for more of an answer than Dean had given.

Benny stopped halfway through a stitch, leaving the needle halfway through Cas’ flesh. He looked up at Cas, the smile gone from his face, a hard expression sat there instead.

“He wasn’t just horrible.” Benny began, “He was a monster.”

Benny looked at Cas for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell him the truth. Cas stayed silent. When Benny finally returned his attention to Cas’ leg again, tying off the last stitch, Cas assumed that would be the end of it.

“Alright,” Benny sat the needle down on the stool and picked up the dirty bottle of rum. He poured some of the alcohol over the freshly sewn wound. “Since Dean doesn’t really like to share, I’ll tell you what I know,” He but down the bottle and picked up some bandages, “You’ll never get it out of him anyway.”

Cas was glad to finally be getting somewhere. Benny wrapped the once white cloth bandages around Cas’ burning knee; his blood soaked through the layers, forming a brilliant red stain, and he couldn’t really move his leg, but at least the injury wasn't exposed anymore. Then Benny tied up the ends of the bandages and got up, moving to sit on the edge of the captain’s bed. Cas wondered for a moment if Dean would mind that but then realized he probably wouldn’t, the two of them got on like brothers. He wondered if they actually were. Cas turned as best he could to face the first mate, eager to know the whole story.

“Okay, Sailor,” Benny started, leaning back against one of the bedposts, “Listen close, ‘cause I’m only gonna tell this tale once…”


End file.
